


Twenty Years Before

by writerforlife



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Magic Reveal, Romance, Separation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 21:26:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4321335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerforlife/pseuds/writerforlife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ghost was always there, following Arthur, haunting his thoughts, creeping into his everyday life, yet his ghost may or may not be dead. When Merlin is revealed as a sorcerer in a dramatic fashion, Arthur makes a rash decision that impacts both of their lives forever. Told throughout the span of twenty years, both Merlin and Arthur discover many things about themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twenty Years Before

**Author's Note:**

> Hope that everyone is having a good summer! I know I haven’t written anything in awhile, but here goes nothing. Enjoy, and let me know what you think. This goes into AU territory for sure and is set after series three, and Uther is still alive. Lancelot is also alive because I love him.

_Twenty years before..._

If he had to pinpoint anything he was feeling, Merlin would have picked annoyed. As he set off at a light jog through the winding corridors of the castle, he realized that his current emotional state was much different than what the other servants were feeling. He passed a stable boy wringing his hands, a kitchen girl biting her lip while trying not to cry, and a few other servants who were whispering among themselves in hushed, anxious tones as he ran. He had to get to Arthur as soon as possible. He knew that the prince would be expecting his dinner, but the events occurring at the moment were much more important.

There was another group of sorcerers on the outskirts of Camelot, all ready to wreak havoc on Camelot, specifically Uther and Arthur.

For Merlin, Arthur was the priority to protect - the rest of Camelot and Uther would just naturally fall under his protection. He desperately wished that he could use his magic in the open. It would have been so much easier to protect Arthur if he didn’t have to sneak in spells and enchantments when Arthur looked away, but that was the way it was. If he did use his magic in the open, Uther would have him burnt at the stake or beheaded. It wasn’t so much that that he cared about; it was the fact that Arthur would have to watch it all unfold before his eyes. He knew Arthur would do something stupidly heroic, and there was no way Merlin would ever want to put Arthur in that position.

He reached Arthur’s door and inhaled, trying to catch his breath from running through the entire castle. He had to be ready, no matter what happened that night. Merlin chuckled to himself. Even though he was preparing himself for the worst, this would probably go like most other sorcerer attacks. Arthur and the knights would storm at them and then get blasted away by magic, but all of that would be preceded by Uther raging at the sorcerers. After everything went all crazy, Merlin would pop in and use some magic. It would be routine.

Merlin caught his breath, and burst into Arthur’s room without announcement. “Arthur!”

Arthur enjoyed being a prince, for the most part. He enjoyed leading and training his knights, he enjoyed some of the parties, and he enjoyed living in the castle. Having servants was nice, as was being safe in the castle for the most part. What he didn’t enjoy, however, was having a servant who spent half his free time at the tavern, was never on time, and couldn’t do his job properly half the time. He paced his bedroom floor, glancing out the window from the time to time. The sun was setting, and Camelot seemed to be at peace.

Yet he was still without dinner.

Merlin was fun to have around, at times, but his tardiness was irritating, especially around mealtime. He still never would get rid of him. Merlin was strange, yet he was loyal. There was something about him that Arthur found endearing

“Arthur!” Merlin burst into his room unannounced, his black hair tousled and his thin face flushed red. His chest was moving up and down more quickly than usual, so Arthur concluded that his servant had most definitely been running. Without his dinner.

“Merlin. I see you have failed to remember that I do like to eat my dinner every night,” Arthur snipped, sitting down on the end of his bed. He crossed his arms, waiting for some snide response from Merlin, and felt confusion when Merlin only looked at him with wide eyes.

“Sorcerers,” Merlin panted. “A lot of sorcerers, all coming for you and your father, Arthur. They’re making their way to the castle, last I heard.”

Arthur grimaced. Was it possible for Camelot to go one week without some renegade group of sorcerers wanting to kill him and his father? It seemed that it wasn’t. The fact made Arthur feel a deep confusion. Would the sorcerers be happier if magic were legal, or would it just legalize the type of violence sorcerers seemed to bring? Arthur couldn’t answer the question, and didn’t really feel the need to. All sorcerers were bad. Anybody who used magic couldn’t be trusted. His father had drilled these two simple facts into him from the time he could understand the meaning of those words. He had watched his first execution at only six years old, had watched a man burn on a stake, and had decided that anyone who deserved that type of pain really was evil. Plus, the fact that they kept attacking his kingdom and trying to kill him didn’t put magic in a good light.

Arthur didn’t say any of this aloud to Merlin. He always got a funny look on his face with Arthur spoke of magic, and Arthur didn’t feel like analyzing it at the moment. He felt like defeating the sorcerers easily and then yelling at Merlin for not bringing him his dinner. “My armor, Merlin,” Arthur ordered, and Merlin strode away to get the chainmail. Arthur sighed. With any luck, there wouldn’t be too many sorcerers and they could sort out the entire debacle before all the stars were out.

Arthur raised his arms and let Merlin slip the chainmail over his head. Merlin had got considerably better at dressing Arthur for battle since the first time he had ever done it, when it had taken him nearly an hour to fasten every buckle with shaking hands. The battle was nearly over by the time Arthur had been able to pry himself from Merlin with half-decently fastened armor. Now, Merlin buckled every piece on with deft, almost gentle hands in under ten minutes. The gentleness in Merlin’s touch always calmed Arthur down before going into battle, and he knew that he had reached the point where no one else could dress him for battle but Merlin.

When Merlin was finished, he handed Arthur his sword with a forced smile on his face.

“I’m coming with you,” Merlin said.

“You are most certainly not!” Arthur exclaimed. Merlin was… Merlin. He wasn’t skilled with a sword, and couldn’t hold his own against a sorcerer. He was more of a liability than anything. Arthur knew that if an evil sorcerer got ahold of Merlin and tried to use him against Arthur, he would crumble like an old wall that had been beaten and battered and shot at throughout the years. No harm would ever come to Merlin if he could help it. Sure, he put the servant through dangerous situations, but Arthur always felt as if he was in control. Against a group of sorcerers, fate and a little bit of luck were in control.

“I am! What are you going to do, lock me in the cupboard? I’d break out anyhow.”

Arthur sighed. “Fine. Stay out of the way.” Maybe having Merlin there for moral support would be okay. He seemed to be some sort of a good luck charm, anyways. Lucky things, such as a bandit slipping or a tree branch falling, always seemed to happen when Merlin was around. “You great dollophead.”

“That is still my word, you know,” Merlin muttered as they set off down the corridors to the throne room. The sorcerers somehow always seemed to go there. Arthur found it sort of ridiculous.

“You work for me, Merlin, so your words become my words. Therefore, ‘dollophead’ is my word.”

“Prat,” Merlin giggled, and Arthur couldn’t help but chuckle despite the quiet sense of dread he felt in his stomach. Despite having faced sorcerers time after time, something didn’t feel quite right, and unfortunately for him, Arthur usually trusted his instincts.

The corridors were unusually quiet and abandoned, Merlin noticed as he walked alongside Arthur. Unlike fifteen minutes ago, when the halls were bursting with little whispers and the shuffling of feet, there was nothing but an eerie silence, albeit the crackling of candles that lit the hall. He and Arthur walked in a tense silence.

Merlin could read Arthur like no one else. He knew every frown line and every crooked smile; he knew immediately when his eyes were cloudy or sparkling, and he knew what every one of those physical features translated to. Now, Arthur’s shoulders were tense, his jaw clenched, and his eyes foggy. Merin knew that Arthur was concerned for his kingdom’s safety, as well as his father’s safety, for Arthur was the heroic type. Arthur was noble, would self-sacrifice for the safety of a friend or even die, and it made Merlin’s heart swell with something he didn’t dare put a name to.

“Where the bloody hell is everyone?” Arthur murmured, and Merlin just shrugged. They approached the wooden double doors of the throne room, and looked at each other in the eyes, preparing themselves for whatever lay beyond. For all Merlin knew, the sorcerers could already be inside. With that knowledge, Merlin summoned every ounce of magic he had inside of him. Protect Arthur. Do not get noticed. Make sure he is alive. Do not let anyone see your magic. The two conflicting thoughts battled for dominance in his mind, pushing at each other until Merlin’s head started to throb. He didn’t know why he was so bothered tonight. This wasn’t unlike anything he had done before.

“All right there, Merlin?” Arthur’s voice pulled him from the war going on in his head.

“Of course. A little worried.”

“I am, too. I’m sure everything will be okay.” Arthur placed a hand on his sword, and pushed the throne room door. The scene that greeted them made Merlin balk, but he gathered his courage and glanced around the room.

There were ten sorcerers in total, more than there had ever been before, and they formed a semicircle around the thrones. The entire castle staff, including Gwen and Gaius, to Merlin’s dismay, was huddled in fearful groups, completely silent. Merlin had a feeling that they had been threatened, and was sickened. Why did sorcerers always have to make magic look bad by threatening the castle staff? Why couldn’t they come cure a disease or bring wealth and fortune to everyone?

Merlin continued his sweep of the room. Both thrones were empty, and Arthur made a noise of disgust beside him. Uther was on his knees in front of the bigger of the two thrones, his crown on the floor in front of him. He looked more angry than afraid. Merlin cringed internally as Uther began to speak.

“How dare you,” the king growled.  A man in a navy blue robe with a black beard stepped forward. Merlin assumed that this man was the leader, for he felt a wave of power radiate from the man. “This is my kingdom, and you and your type have no right to it. Magic and all types of sorcery are evil and detestable.”

The man with the beard laughed, and his smirk sent chills down Merlin’s spine. This man was quite obviously a powerful sorcerer, and Merlin had learned powerful sorcerers were usually in the company of other powerful sorcerers. And there were ten of them. For the first time since knowing of the presence of the sorcerers, he felt a little nervous.

“Uther Pendragon. Sorcery was not a crime until you made it one. You created all of the magical threats that you face. I feel nothing but disgust for you.”

“Then why haven’t you killed me yet, coward?” Uther sneered, and the sorcerer laughed once again.

“You have little in this world. You have your kingdom, and your son. We have your kingdom already. I think it would do you good to see your son killed in front of you, but he seems to be a bit tardy.”

“You can blame my manservant for that,” Arthur said, stepping forward with his sword drawn. Merlin slipped back, trying to find a spot where eyes wouldn’t be on him. He couldn’t do any magic if someone could see him, especially Arthur or Uther. “Have you come to take your revenge on the prince and king? You can ask the sorcerer who tried this last week how that went.” Arthur’s tone was hard and formal, nearly threatening, and it filled Merlin with a mixture of pride and dread. “Why don’t you just leave and not hurt anyone?” Arthur suggested gently.

As if they were puppets attached to a set of strings, all of the sorcerers turned when the man in the blue robe turned to face Arthur. Uther struggled to his feet, but didn’t move.

Suddenly, the sorcerer in the blue robe shouted a few words, and Arthur fell to his hands and knees, gasping for breath. Merlin felt his magic swell up inside of him as tears leaked from the corners of Arthur’s eyes and he recognized the spell: torture. He had briefly read up on torture spells once, and the words came back to him with alarming speed. Pain. Madness. Hallucinations. Burning. Flames. Insanity. Irreversible effects. Merlin bit his lip. He couldn’t interfere, not yet.

Arthur shuddered. It seemed as if the spell was done and the torture was over, but the sorcerer whispered another spell. This time, Arthur gasped and then screamed. The scream echoed, and Merlin could read it better than anyone. Arthur was in pain. That was all it took for Merlin to snap. Before he even realized what he had done, the chandelier had landed on the sorcerer in the blue robe and crushed him. Arthur looked up, surprised from the respite. Looks of relief began to cross the faces of the other servants, but Merlin was on high alert.

There were still nine other sorcerers to deal with.

All nine sorcerers were currently forming blazing orbs of fire in their hands. All nine sorcerers’ eyes were focused on Arthur, who was staring at them with fear in his eyes.

“Arthur!” Merlin screamed, and ran as fast as he could to stand in front of Arthur. He knew exactly what he was doing. He put up a force field without saying a word, shield Arthur and everyone else in the palace. The orbs of fire flew at the barrier, and dissolved into little puffs of harmless smoke. Merlin heard a collective gasp from the servants and sorcerers alike, but didn’t let himself break focus. Arthur, Arthur, he had to keep Arthur safe no matter what the cost.

The sorcerers formed more orbs of fire. Those failed. They formed more. Those failed, too.

Merlin kept the force field strong.

Any hope of living a discrete, normal life as Arthur’s servant in Camelot was over. They were going to kill him, burn him, behead him, and Arthur would have to watch, everything that he had wanted to avoid. He had just thrown everything away for Arthur, and Merlin didn’t care. He had to keep Arthur alive and safe, and if that was what it took, he would do it.

The sorcerers began to get creative, throwing more advanced and more threatening curses at Merlin’s shield, and he knew he couldn’t keep it up for much longer. He would have to kill all nine sorcerers. Nine lives, taken by him. Ten, including the man in the blue robe. He had killed that many people, but not at the same time, and not in front of everyone that he had ever cared about. The shield faltered at the thought, but Merlin quickly restored its effectiveness.

Arthur. He had to look at Arthur before he did anything. With a quick gasp, he turned and look at the prince, who was still on his hands and knees.

In those blue eyes, he saw bewilderment, anger, and a sense of betrayal. Never before then had he thought a look to be crippling. In that moment, he would have rather seen all of Camelot destroyed than have Arthur look at him like that again.

Arthur was numb. He supposed that if he dug a little deeper into his feelings, he would find a disgusting mixture of anger, hurt, betrayal, rage, shock, and fear, but on the outside, he was numb. Merlin. His Merlin. Merlin had lied to him for years, had deceived him, had been the one thing that Arthur hated the most: a sorcerer. He watched as Merlin stood in front of him, standing tall with his hands out, and felt a little piece of his heart break into two jagged fragments.

From what Arthur could see, Merlin was protecting him and the servants, and a bit of confusion broke through the numbness. All sorcerers were evil. That was a fact that Uther had drilled into him since he could understand what the words really meant, yet Merlin was protecting him. Was it all part of some master plan? Arthur stayed on his hands and knees and breathed heavily. God, his body hurt so much, and now his mind was spinning in circles. Merlin had deceived him for years, and he had trusted him so much. There was even a part of him that thought that he might - Arthur cut off the thought, not letting it tarnish what little resolve he had. No, Merlin was a sorcerer, and no sorcerer could do any good.

After what seemed like an eternity, Arthur got the sense that someone was looking at him. He forced himself to look up, and his eyes met Merlin’s. His breath hitched slightly, for Merlin’s eyes were not the blue he was expecting. They were gold, aflame, like the sun, or like the fire Merlin would most definitely be burnt in. Suddenly, all Arthur could see was Merlin’s skin slowly burning and blackening in a raging fire, and all he could hear was Merlin’s screams as he was burnt alive. He tore his eyes away.

It was easier not to look. Maybe if he didn’t look, he would wake up and everything happening would be a nightmare.

Merlin turned away from Arthur, unable to bear it any longer. He had seen what he needed to see, and his strength was fading. The time to make a move was now. All he had seen in Arthur’s eyes was hurt and hatred, so he didn’t have much purpose to hide his powers any longer. What did it matter?

He let the shield fade into nothingness, and for a moment, the sorcerers ceased their attacks, surprised at the lack of a barrier. However, Merlin knew exactly what he was doing. With a cold, numb feeling in his gut, he let out a great roar that seemed to shake the very infrastructure of the castle. He knew that his eyes were bright gold, that Uther was watching him, that Arthur could see him, but he couldn’t find the energy to give a damn.

The sorcerers didn’t stand a chance. All nine of them dissolved into a black dust before the eyes of every resident of the castle before they even had the chance to scream, and Merlin felt the room spin around him. He managed to remain upright, though, and turned around to face Arthur, who was now on his feet.

“Merlin?” Arthur whispered in a shaky voice, from anger or fear or sadness Merlin couldn’t tell. Merlin turned his gaze away, but all he saw was Uther. The king was bristling with anger, his shoulders tense and his mouth open with shock. He looked around the room. Every face he saw was similar to Arthur’s, shocked and surprised and scared. That was all it took.

Merlin ran.

He vaguely registered Uther screaming for the knights to chase and capture him, choosing to focus on the burning in his chest and the dull ache in his entire body. Maintaining a shield of such strength for so long was strenuous even for someone of Merlin’s power, and now he had to run for his life. He sprinted through the corridors and headed for the castle doors. He had to get out. Where he would go, Merlin had no idea. He would hide and try his best to survive, for even if he couldn’t be in Camelot, he could still indirectly protect Arthur. Because even if Arthur hated him with every fiber of his being, Merlin would still use his powers for one purpose, and one purpose only. His only regret was the time he would lose with Arthur. Arthur would become a great king without Merlin by his side, and the thought made Merlin want to break down and cry, yet he knew he had to keep running.

So he ran.

“Don’t just stand there! After him!” Uther growled, and Arthur flinched as all of the knights sprinted after Merlin, their swords drawn. “Get him alive or dead! It does not matter in the least. Kill the traitor if you feel like it.”

“Father!” Arthur exclaimed. Uther looked upon him with angry, fiery eyes, and Arthur felt like he was three feet tall. “Don’t tell them to kill him. Didn’t you see what just happened?” Arthur felt as if another part of heart was shattering. “Merlin was protecting us. Why, he jumped right in front of me! Bring him back so I can question him. Please.” Arthur never begged, but something wasn’t right. They couldn’t just kill Merlin.

Uther’s eyes narrowed. “What type of enchantment did he put on you?”  
“Enchantment? What are you speaking of?”  
“Arthur, I have told you over and over that all magic is evil. Your servant is not the exception. I know you care for the boy, but he is a danger. He killed ten people without laying a hand on them. Go kill him, Arthur,” Uther ordered.

Arthur inhaled. Merlin was a sorcerer. He still couldn’t quite get his head around it. He looked around the room, and saw fear on the faces of his citizens. Their eyes were wide with fear, except for Gaius, who Arthur found near the edge of the crowd. The old physician looked to be near tears, and in that moment, Arthur felt a surge of rage rise up in him. Gaius had most definitely known about Merlin’s magic, yet Merlin hadn’t confided in Arthur. He knew one thing: he had to get to Merlin. What he would do when he found the lying prat he couldn’t say, but he knew that he had to find him. He set out from the throne room at a near sprint, following his knights.

Every corridor he turned down, he saw a knight scouring each corner that could be a hiding place, looking for Merlin. Arthur didn’t bother. He knew that Merlin was too smart to hide in the castle. Merlin would most definitely run as far away as possible. With that in mind, Arthur headed for the castle doors. On the way, he saw a group of knights standing in a tight huddle, whispering among themselves. They stopped as soon as Arthur approached, but Arthur couldn’t find it within himself to lecture them.

“Go and close the castle gates,” Arthur snapped at the knights. They instantly straightened up before dashing off. “Merlin does not leave the grounds,” he shouted after them, and then raced through the castle until he reached the double doors that led out of the castle. He stopped in front of them to collect his thoughts and catch his breath, but instantly regretted it. Feelings of regret, confusion, and anger swamped him. I have to kill the sorcerer. To do that, I have to kill Merlin. How could I kill Merlin? How could I watch another knight kill Merlin? He placed his hands on the handles to open the door, pausing for a moment. Maybe he’ll give me a reason to kill him. Maybe when I walk out there it will chaos, with fire and spells and enchantments. Then I can say I didn’t have a choice. Arthur inhaled and pushed the double doors open, halfway hoping to find a battle of epic scale.

The only sound he heard was crickets singing their evening song. The only thing he saw was a few knights running around to search for Merlin in the pale moonlight. No epic battles, no Merlin with glowing golden eyes, only frantic knights.

“Sire!” A knight ran up to Arthur. “We shut the castle gates, so we know that he’s here in the courtyard.”

“Unless he used magic to escape,” Arthur said in a grim voice. That was something he had to think about, now.

“Merlin is weakened at the moment, sire. He looked exhausted from whatever happened in the throne room, and I managed to hit him with a club in the chest. The sorcerer still managed to escape me, but I can tell you that he is not in good condition at the moment.”

“Right.” Arthur thought that his voice sounded unconvinced and tinny, but he forced himself to clap the knight on the shoulder and congratulate him. However, in his mind, he saw Merlin, hurt and trying desperately to escape. “Keep looking for him.” The knight ran off, and Arthur drew his sword for the sake of appearance.

He scanned the courtyard, looking for any sign of Merlin. Suddenly, he saw a brief flash of red from behind a corner. Merlin’s neckerchief. Arthur looked around again. None of the knights were focused on him. They were all running about like chickens with their heads cut off. It would have been so easy to shout, “Sorcerer!”, and run after Merlin in a big group, but Arthur chose to pull his cloak over his shoulders, glance around one more time, and run after Merlin silently.

Arthur rounded the corner at a jog and then stopped. “Merlin,” he hissed, taking a few cautious steps forward. There was a lump about fifteen feet away from him, and Arthur heard what sounded like the wet inhales of someone struggling to breathe.

Someone who had taken a hit to the chest.

“Merlin.” Arthur held his sword tight and approached the shape tentatively. Just hours earlier, he would have run up and pulled Merlin to his feet. If Merlin had taken a hit to the chest, he would have tended to the wound himself. Now, he felt a rush of fear as he neared Merlin.

“Arthur.” Merlin’s voice was a raspy croak, but Arthur stilled flinched. He took a step closer, and when he was just five feet away, he could finally see Merlin in the dim lighting. A dull ache bloomed in his heart. Merlin’s face was pale and drawn, and he held a hand over his chest. Arthur assumed that was where he had been hit. As Merlin stumbled to his feet, he struggled to find his footing, and Arthur just watched. Finally, Merlin was standing upright and looking Arthur in the eye.

“You’re a sorcerer,” Arthur said.

“Yeah,” Merlin wheezed, and his body shuddered when he let out a deep cough. Arthur was sprayed with something wet, so he looked at his forearm. Blood.

“So you’ve lied to me for years.”

“Yeah.”

“Sorcerers are evil, Merlin.”

No response.

“Yet you protected me back in the throne room?” Arthur’s voice shook. “I’m having trouble understanding any of this, Merlin.”

“Arthur, I’ve never wanted to hurt you. Ever.”

“You’re powerful. You disintegrated nine sorcerers and held some type of shield for almost five minutes.”

“Yes, I’m powerful.”

“Was your plan to get close to me and then kill me? Are you going to kill me now?” Arthur’s throat was dry.

“Are you going to kill me?” Merlin inquired quietly. “Arthur, I won’t kill you. I only tried to protect you.”

Arthur remained silent.

“Arthur, please, if you plan on dragging me back to Uther, don’t. Just kill me here. I don’t want to burn in front of Gwen, Gaius, everyone… you. I’d rather you just kill me now. I would rather it be you.” Merlin wasn’t teary and his voice didn’t tremble; instead, he sounded stronger than ever.

“What, just stab you with my sword?” For as strong as Merlin sounded, Arthur was just as weak. Even to his own ears, Arthur’s voice sounded unconvinced and hollow. His hands were shaky, and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. There was no easy way out of this situation. Either he could kill Merlin, something that would most definitely haunt him for the rest of his life, or he could let him go, which would be directly defying laws that his father had spent his entire career as king enforcing.

“Yes.” Merlin let out another bone-rattling cough.

An idea, a third option, dangerous but plausible, leapt into Arthur’s mind. He glanced around, looking for any knights that might be able to see him. No one was in view, so Arthur sheathed his sword and rushed forward, wrapping a supportive arm around Merlin’s waist. With his other hand, he felt the lump from the knight’s club on Merlin’s chest. It was slightly raised, like a mountain on a map, and was hot to the touch. Merlin hissed in pain under Arthur’s touch, and Arthur knew that if he folded Merlin’s shirt to the side, he would see a blossom of blue and black spread over Merlin’s torso. “Don’t worry. The hit won’t kill you.”

“Yeah, but burning at the stake might,” Merlin deadpanned.

“You aren’t going to die, Merlin.”

“What do you mean?”

Arthur knew that he might regret it later, but he knew that he had to do something. Merlin had risked his life for him multiple times. He had to give Merlin the benefit of the doubt, even if doing that meant sneaking a known sorcerer out of the castle premises. “We’re getting you out of here.”

“What do you mean?” Merlin hissed in pain as Arthur began to move stealthily as he possibly could while supporting Merlin. His servant was dead weight, as much good as a sack of potatoes. Arthur knew that it would be difficult to evade all of his knights while escaping the castle walls with Merlin, and like the prat Merlin always said he was, he had ordered the castle gates to be shut. “Arthur, what are you doing?”  
Arthur moved to the very end of the wall and pressed Merlin behind him. His knights were still running about everywhere, so there was no getting out without a distraction. Arthur felt his chest tighten. What he was about to do went against everything his father had ever stood for, but maybe his father had been wrong. The only way he could know was doing exactly what he was doing right now, which was helping and questioning Merlin

Of course, his interests were strictly political. In no way was he concerned about Merlin.

He let his eyes flick over Merlin. He was shaky and pale, and his breathing was labored. Arthur felt every struggled rise and fall of Merlin’s chest against his back, and he instantly regretted what he was about to ask of his servant. “Merlin. I need a distraction. Can you provide that, and then magic the gate open?”

The rise and fall of Merlin’s chest paused. Arthur twisted to look at Merlin. His mouth was opened in a perfect “o”, and his eyes were wide. Then, he shut his mouth and grimaced. He didn’t say anything, but suddenly, a fire started far away from Arthur and Merlin. Before Arthur’s very eyes, the gates flung themselves open. This all happened in under a second.

Arthur gasped, and forced himself to keep a hold on Merlin.

Apparently Merlin was powerful.

Merlin felt as if somebody pinched him, he would wake up from the strangest dream of his entire life. He had used magic in front of the entire castle staff and Arthur, then run from them, almost gotten killed by one of the knights, and now Arthur was supporting him and saying that he would help him escape. Merlin didn’t want to use Arthur in order to escape, but since he felt like his chest was about to cave in and his head was spinning, he didn’t have another option. At the moment, Merlin didn’t even know if he could summon a drop of magic.

Merlin felt Arthur’s eyes on him. He met the prince’s eyes, hoping that Arthur couldn’t see the fear. For he was scared, more scared than he had ever been in his entire life. If anything had the power to scare him, it was dying without fulfilling his and Arthur’s destiny.

“Merlin. I need a distraction. Can you provide that, and then magic the gate open?”

Merlin drew in air like he was a drowning man. His night had just gotten even more strange. He had dreamt many times of a world where he could perform magic in front of Arthur, but he had never imagined Arthur requesting him to do magic. Without saying a word, Merlin provided a fireball that all of the knights sprinted towards before popping the lock off the gate. He slumped against Arthur after doing all of this. What would Arthur do now?

“That was effective,” Arthur stuttered after what felt like an eternity to Merlin. He didn’t reply, just leaned into Arthur more. He didn’t mean to, but he was so exhausted and his chest hurt and Arthur felt like a roaring fire would feel after being outside in the frigid cold for hours. “Alright, I’m going to get you out of here.”

Arthur tightened his grip on Merlin’s waist and peered around the corner. Merlin felt hazy. Suddenly, he felt a hand tapping his cheek. “Merlin, stay with me right now.” Arthur ended up dragging him across the grounds of the castle and past the knights, who were still focused on the raging fireball. As Arthur dragged him, the rocking lulling him to sleep. “Merlin!” Arthur hissed, and Merlin forced his eyes open. Arthur was moving as quickly as he could past the knights and into the main streets of Camelot.

Merlin found himself impressed with Arthur’s willpower and strength. Through Arthur’s training and fighting, Merlin had noticed it before but now that it was benefiting him, he was astounded. He was nearly dead weight, but Arthur was moving so quickly that he blinked and they were in the forest. Arthur only stopped when they were so deep among the trees that it would have taken the knights hours to track them. At that point, Merlin felt as if the world was spinning around him and that somebody was sitting on his chest.  

“We’re going to stop here,” Arthur announced. His voice was chilly, like a wind in a winter storm. Arthur set Merlin down on the ground, and in a moment, Merlin felt very cold. He watched as Arthur stormed about, collecting things to make a fire and then hurling them at the ground while Merlin stretched his body out. As Arthur built a fire silently, Merlin looked on. Arthur’s jaw was clenched, his hair ruffled, and his nose wrinkled. However, for as angry as his features were, his eyes were dull. Merlin couldn’t bring himself to say anything.

Arthur spoke after the fire had been roaring for barely five minutes. “Can you explain?”

Merlin looked at the ground. He didn’t know if he was strong enough to look at Arthur while saying this; strong enough to watch anger bloom across his face. “I’ve had magic my entire life. I’ve used it in Camelot, I’ve used it to protect you, and I’ve used it to save your life.”

“How many times?”

Merlin tried to count, but his brain was too foggy. “A lot. Too many to count. But a lot.”

“An example, Merlin.”

“When you were bitten by the questing beast.”

“That was you.”

“Yes.”

“And tonight?”  
“Doing what I usually do. Except you saw me.”

“You’re powerful.”

“Very.”

“Merlin, dammit, look at me!”

Merlin pulled his eyes up and looked Arthur right in the eye.

“Why did you reveal yourself?” Arthur asked, his voice trembling ever so slightly.

“You were about to be killed,” Merlin said quietly. “I didn’t want to risk your life.”

“But in front of my father! You used magic in front of my father, the entire castle staff, and everyone. Merlin, why would you do that?”

“It’s always been about you, Arthur.” Merlin looked back at the ground. “If I hadn’t been able to escape, I gladly would have burned tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that.”

Merlin could hear the crickets sorrowful chirps, the wind whistling through the trees, the rush of the river almost a mile away from them, everything but Arthur’s breathing. “Arthur?”

“But magic is wrong,” Arthur mused. “And you lied! Has anything been true?”

The world was spinning even more, now, and Merlin felt as if his eyelids were weights. He was so tired, so tired of everything, so tired from everything, but Arthur was still asking him questions. Yes, he wanted to reply. I know I’ve lied, I know I used magic, but I am not bad. I wanted to protect you, and I still do. I love you, and I don’t think you’ll ever know, but that’s okay, because maybe you’ll be safe and be the greatest king the world has ever seen. Maybe. But he couldn’t get any of that out, for sleep overcame him, and the world was dark.

There was no answer from Merlin. Arthur waited a few moments before glancing over at the warlock, and balked at what he saw. Merlin, his face pallid, slumped over with his eyes closed. Despite the anger he still felt, he rushed over to Merlin and hovered a hand over his mouth to check for breath. Merlin’s breath was there, warm and steady, and Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. Merlin was just sleeping, most likely from sheer exhaustion. He had defeated ten sorcerers.

No, he couldn’t lose Merlin. Not yet.

He gently pushed Merlin’s sweaty hair from his forehead before unbuttoning the front of his shirt with the utmost care. Arthur couldn’t hold back a gasp. The bruise from where Merlin had been hit was like an ugly flower, with petals of yellow and blue and green. It bloomed all across Merlin’s chest, and the skin was hot to the touch. When Arthur laid a hand upon it, a moan escaped Merlin’s lips. Arthur quickly removed his hand, and sighed. Merlin had remained conscious and upright with a wound that would have brought many knights to their knees.

Merlin had once again proven that he was most likely stronger and braver than Arthur could ever hope to be.

In that moment, Arthur decided. He needed Merlin to be alive. He couldn’t watch Merlin burned or persecuted for something he couldn’t help. Merlin was a hero - just tonight, he had saved Arthur’s life by putting his own on the line. If Merlin died - no, was murdered - Arthur knew that he couldn’t stand to live with the guilt. He looked down at his sleeping form. He looked so innocent, so peaceful, but his father wouldn’t think so.

Merlin could not return to Camelot. The realization hit Arthur like an arrow from the bow of the best archer. If he did, he wouldn’t last an hour. There would be no more Merlin waking him up in the morning, no more Merlin complaining next to him on hunting trips, no more watching Merlin laugh over stupid things, no more trading insults with Merlin. Their glory days were over.

Merlin stirred in his sleep, and a moan of pain escaped from his mouth. Without questioning his motives, he grasped Merlin’s hand in his own. In an instant, Merlin was calm again.

Arthur was shaking all over, now. Because he cared for Merlin greatly, he had to let him go somewhere else where he would be safe, and he had to return to Camelot. Keep up the facade. Pretend he killed Merlin, pretend he was a ghost of the past, an example for how magic could corrupt, but at the same time, not let the tale of his heroics die.

Arthur ran his hands through his hair. He had to get back to the castle, or the knights would come looking for him and maybe find Merlin. His job from now on was to keep Merlin on the down-low. He placed a kiss on Merlin’s forehead, preparing himself for what was to come.

“Merlin,” he whispered. Merlin stirred, and his eyes fluttered opened. “Merlin.”

“Merlin.” Someone was calling out for him in hushed tones. He opened his eyes to see Arthur sitting next to him. “Merlin.”

“Arthur.” Merlin struggled to sit up, and Arthur’s arms were there, holding him up.

“You can’t come back to Camelot,” Arthur choked out.

“I figured that much,” Merlin replied. He took a deep breath. Here it was. Arthur was going to kill him in that moment.

“I want you to run.” Merlin snapped his head up to look Arthur in the eye. “I want you to run away from Camelot, as far as you can get, any other kingdom. Go somewhere where you are safe, and live a long, long life.”

“Arthur.”

“Just don’t forget any of this, please.”

Merlin bowed his head to see Arthur grasping one of his hands, and then raised it again. He placed his other hand on Arthur’s cheek. “I swear that I won’t, you great prat.”

“Please, just go.”

“Right.” Merlin stood up on shaky legs, and suddenly, he was pulled into Arthur’s arms.

“Be safe. I’m sorry that things have to be this way.”

Merlin suddenly felt a rush of panic in his chest.  “Arthur, I can’t leave you! Sorcerers try to kill you pretty much weekly. What if I’m not there when that happens? I have to protect you.”

“No. You stay safe, and I won’t die either. We’ll see each other again, Merlin, I promise.”

Merlin held onto Arthur for a moment, relishing how the prince felt in his arms, and then pulled back. “I promise.” Merlin walked away into the trees, and didn’t look back. He didn’t know where he was going, but someday, he would return to Arthur.

When Arthur returned to the kingdom, the knights and his father were waiting for him. His father looked at him expectantly. “I killed the sorcerer,” Arthur announced bluntly. “He’s dead.” Everyone tried to pat him on the back, congratulate him, yet Arthur felt no joy. He pushed past everyone and locked himself in his room. It would be a long night that would lead into a nightmarish new dawn.

_Nineteen years before…_

Edward had been the manservant to Prince Arthur for about a year, if he remembered correctly.

There had been some melodrama about the prince’s old manservant being a sorcerer, so obviously he didn’t work for the prince anymore. Edward didn’t know much, for he had been hired off the streets one day about a month after the last manservant had been revealed as a sorcerer. The prince had said that he hadn’t wanted anyone who worked in the castle at the same time as his old manservant to be the replacement, and Edward had accepted it. He didn’t have any reason to doubt it.

Edward thought himself to be a perceptive person. He noticed many things about the prince that others didn’t pick up on. The prince was cold on the outside, but he did care very deeply. It was almost as if he didn’t want somebody to get close to him and then hurt him. The prince was quick to scold him and even shout, but apologized after a few hours. Then, there were days where the prince wouldn’t speak at all, but would sit in his room and simply stare out the window. Those were the days where no one could do anything for the prince, save Gaius. Sometimes, the old physician could get the prince in a presentable place. Edward would hear the prince and physician speaking in hushed tones, the prince’s voice shaking at times. Gaius would leave the room, Edward would reenter, and the prince would look slightly less traumatized. Then, the day would go on.

Now, Edward stood outside the prince’s room, his breakfast in hand, preparing himself for what he could see. On his way to Prince Arthur’s room, he had seen Gwen in the hallway. She was a sweet girl, nice, but there was a slight sadness in her mannerisms.

“Today is going to be one of those days where he is sad,” she warned Edward gently. “Today might be worse than other days.”

“Why?” he had asked.

She smiled a melancholy half-smile. “Today was the day his old manservant was revealed as a sorcerer.”

With that exchange, Edward took a deep breath, opened the prince’s door, and stepped inside. “Good morning, sire.” He placed the tray of food on the table and looked towards the window. Sure enough, Prince Arthur was standing by the window, a frozen statue, his arms folded across his chest. He wasn’t out of his sleeping clothes and his hair was unbrushed. “How are you this morning, sire?” Edward asked for pretenses.

“Tell me, Edward,” Prince Arthur said in a husky voice. If he didn’t know better, he would have guessed that the prince had been crying. “Have you ever done wrong by a person, left them alone when you shouldn’t have, not told them everything you should have, and then regretted it?”  
“I… I can’t say that I have, sire.”

“You’re lucky.” The prince’s voice shook, and he ran his hands through his hair. “He was hurt and exhausted. He could barely keep his eyes open. How did I think he could run away? How far did he even make it? God, he was so weak. I never should have left him.”

“May I ask who, sire?” Edward had a scandalous idea, but quickly disregarded it. Prince Arthur’s old manservant was dead.

“No one, Edward. A ghost.” Prince Arthur turned towards Edward. Edward noticed that the prince’s cheeks looked more hollow than usual, and his blue eyes were rimmed with red. “A ghost that will haunt me for my entire life. Never mind that. What do I have today?”

“Your father is giving his speech on the success in enforcing the ban on magic since the incident last year.”

Edward jumped as Arthur laughed bitterly. “Of course he is! Damn him. Damn him!” Arthur kicked the wardrobe, and Edward flinched. Arthur whipped around and stared at Edward. “I hope someone assassinates him today.” He stalked behind his changing screen, and Edward sighed.

Today would be a long day.

_Eighteen years before…_

For Hunith, having her son asleep barely ten feet away from her was a surreal experience that she had never expected to come true again. Two years ago, she had heard that Merlin had used magic in public, incited a manhunt, only to be slayed by Prince Arthur. A piece of her had died inside. She had trusted the prince because Merlin had trusted the prince. She had spent two years in anguish, never expecting to see her son again.

Now, here he was, sleeping under her roof. It was funny, how life twisted the knife in as far as possible before applying her healing touch.

From the time she had spent talking to Merlin last night, she could tell that he was not the same man. For one, he was bruised, battered, beaten, and scarred. He had most definitely not been eating enough, for she could see the bones of his shoulders and his ribs protruding. There was a nasty cut down the side of his face that she didn’t dare ask about the origin, but knew that it would scar. Bruises littered his body like flowers littered a meadow in springtime. However, his physical state paled in comparison to his mental state. His eyes were dull, his shoulders were slumped, and his voice was quiet.

“He let me live, Mum,” Merlin had whispered out of the blue. “He helped me live. He dragged me out of the castle and told me to run away, and I did. What if he’s dead? Sorcerers attack him all the time.”

“Merlin, I know you’re worried about the prince, but you have to be concerned about your own well-being.”

“I can’t! He needs someone there, and I should be there. Not some other manservant.” From the tone of Merlin’s voice, Hunith could tell that the discussion was over.

“How long are you staying?”

“Just the night. Mum, don’t say anything,” Merlin said when Hunith opened her mouth to protest. “Everyone thinks I’m dead, and it’s safer that way. If people think I’m dead, I can live.”

Hunith couldn’t find an argument for that. All she hoped was that Merlin stayed safe, and that one day, he made it back to his prince.

_Seventeen years before..._

“Arthur.” Gaius’s voice echoed through his room. Arthur sat at the chair by his window, simply looking into the streets. Everyone looked so happy. A boy handed a girl a flower, and her face turned as red as a rose as she giggled. Two children chased each other while their mothers gossiped. When had he forgotten how to be happy?

“He wouldn’t want you to live like this, you know.” Gaius’s voice was an annoying gnat buzzing incessantly in his ear. “When is the last time you ate?”

Arthur turned to see the full plate of food on his table. Edward was usually pretty good at taking away the food before anyone could see it. He figured he should give a little more credit to his current manservant, but as much as he tried, he couldn’t. Edward wasn’t Merlin. Edward was proper, stiff, all “Yes, sire,” and “No, your highness.” He didn’t bring any color to Arthur’s life.

“I haven’t been hungry,” Arthur mumbled.

“You still have to eat, sire. I’ve seen peasants with more meat on their bones than you. Arthur, he would not want this for you.”

“How do you even know that?” Arthur was fed up with everyone chiding him, telling him to eat more, to smile more, to be happier. Why are you so sad? They would all ask the same question, and Arthur would just say that he was tired or stressed. Nobody but Gaius and maybe Gwen knew the truth of the matter. “He could be dead for all we know. Dead!” Arthur sprang to his feet and kicked over the chair he had been sitting in.

“Arthur, you have to hope for the best.” Gaius looked pained. “He was like a son to me.”

“I don’t know how I sleep at night. I never should have left him alone.”

“What would you have done differently? He would have been burnt at the stake. You gave him a chance. And I hope I live to see the day you are king and he is able to return.” Gaius eyed the food. “If you don’t start eating, though, you may not live to see his return.”

Silently, Arthur went and sat down in front of his food. He reluctantly took a bite of the bread and nearly gagged. It had been so long since he had eaten.

“It will help if you go slowly. I’m sure you’ll feel better once you’ve eaten something,” Gaius said gently. He sat with Arthur until every last bite was gone, and even then leaving reluctantly.

Unlike what Gaius had said Arthur did not feel better. Now, he was sad and he had a stomachache. He went a laid down on his bed. Where was Merlin now? Although he didn’t like to think about it, Merlin could very well be long dead.

No, Merlin was alive, Arthur told himself, and he will return to me.

_Sixteen years before…_

One lash.

Blood trickled down Merlin’s back.

“Tell me about Camelot and the king,” the man with the whip said.

Merlin stayed silent. Arthur, Arthur, protect Arthur.

Another lash.

Merlin could feel loose chunks of skin.

“Tell me about the defense systems in Camelot.

Merlin remained silent. Arthur, with blue eyes and blonde hair and very warm, Arthur.

One more lash.

“You were manservant to the prince. You know things.

Arthur, warm, Arthur, like a fire in winter.

Another lash.

“How about I go after the prince himself?”

Merlin struggled to his hands and knees. “Go to Hell,” he rasped.

A backhand across his face.

He fell to the floor.

Another lash across his back.

“Tell me about Camelot!”

Arthur, Arthur, Arthur, I love him. I love him.

One lash. Two lashes. Three. Four. Five. They came too fast for Merlin to count.

He fell to the floor of the cell, trembling.

“We’re done for now. I’ll come back later when you want to talk.”

The torturer kicked him in the ribs.

Merlin shuddered. How did he manage to get captured by enemies of Camelot? He would never tell them anything. He would protect Arthur no matter what. Maybe Arthur hated him, maybe Arthur wanted him dead, but he would protect him.

They could torture him all they wanted, but he would never give Arthur up.

_Fifteen years before…_

Edward brought Prince Arthur his dinner one night. Through the years, the prince had put some weight back on, some of the color had returned to his cheeks, and his clothes fit better. However, the prince still had his bad days, and today was one of them. The prince’s eyelids were heavy and his eyes were unfocused, yet he was forcing food into his mouth. Edward noticed that despite the trouble Prince Arthur was having with the food, he had downed glass after glass of wine.

“Edward?” Arthur asked, his voice slurred and slow. “Can I tell you something?”

Edward jumped in surprise. The prince never addressed him but to give orders. “Sire. You’re drunk.”

“A bit.” His words were like molasses, dripping from the pitcher drop by tantalizing drop. “I can’t remember what his voice sounds like.”

“Whose voice, sire?” Edward asked cautiously.

“I can’t remember what Merlin’s voice sounds like.” Prince Arthur sounded like a lost, frightened child.

Edward, for one, was shocked. Out of all the names he had expected, he did not expect to hear the name of Prince Arthur’s old manservant. He had long suspected that the prince had loved his manservant dearly, but did not know the extent of it.

“I should be able to remember what his voice sounds like,” Arthur slurred, stumbling to his feet. Edward rushed forward and grabbed Arthur’s shoulder. “Why can I not remember?”

“I’m sure you will be able to remember soon, sire.” Edward guided Arthur to the bed and laid him down.

“I want to remember. I can’t forget his voice.” Arthur’s eyes were closing, and Edward’s heart was breaking. “I cannot forget his voice.”

_Fourteen years before…_

 

For the first time in a long time, Merlin was not being tortured or beaten. He behind the bar in a pub, mixing and pouring drinks for knights and peasants alike who all had problems that they wanted to drown. Sometimes he indulged, but most of the time, he preferred to stay sober.

Tonight was a busy night. Customers buzzed about, chatting and laughing and patting friends on the back. Merlin felt a twinge of sadness. He couldn’t remember the last time he had had a friend. Sure, he had had allies, people who had cared enough to smuggle him out of a torture cell or stop someone from killing him, but a true friend was a commodity he could not afford.

In the same way, Merlin could not remember the last time he had stayed in one place for more than one month. He lived a nomadic life, wandering about looking for odd jobs and killing bandits who might consider heading for Camelot. Even from afar, he still wanted to look after Arthur.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the dish he was shining, and noticed that he hardly recognized himself anymore. His dark hair was shaggy and dirty. Then, there was the matter of the scar on the side of his face from years ago. There were also scars on his back and scars on his chest and scars everywhere. He had lived every horror that he had ever feared, and knew that he would most likely live them again. These were the type of nights where he questioned why he chose to remain alive. It would be so much easier, he thought, to just end this all.  However, he knew that he was better than that. He would keep living, keep moving, keep praying that one day, everything would sort itself out.

When Merlin looked up from his work, he saw a blonde man sitting at a table with a group of friends, laughing and talking, and he was taken back nearly six years to a time where that man was Arthur and he was sitting to his right. He had taken those days for granted, and God, if he regretted anything, he regretted that. Knowing that he couldn’t take the sight for much longer, he turned his back on the blonde man.

He hoped with all his heart that Arthur was alive and well, for if he wasn’t, well, then he didn’t know if he could find the strength to have faith in anything.

_Thirteen years before…_

 

When Arthur had heard that a sorcerer had been captured from the woods, he had dashed down to the dungeons with his heart in his mouth. Merlin. Merlin. Merlin, he chanted in his thoughts over and over again. He had pushed past servants and knights alike, not stopping until he was in the dungeon, breathless.

“Let me see the sorcerer,” Arthur ordered a young knight in the coldest voice he could muster. The knight opened his mouth to reply, but Arthur cut him off. “I’m the prince.”

“As you wish, sire.” The knight led him through the rows of cells, and Arthur could feel his heart pounding against his chest, begging to escape. If the sorcerer was Merlin, Arthur didn’t know how he would handle it. Most likely, he would break down crying at the sight of his former manservant. How would Merlin look after seven years? Obviously they weren’t as young as they were before. Would Merlin be bitter, scarred, traumatized, angry, sad, joyful, or a little bit of everything? Emotions were so complicated, and Arthur didn’t know how people put a name to just one.

They reached the cell of the alleged sorcerer, and Arthur found himself holding his breath. All Arthur could see was a dark mass of hair, and his heart was rushing. The sorcerer was sitting with his face to the wall, but when the knight tapped on the bars with his sword, the sorcerer’s head swiveled about. Arthur sighed in relief. Not Merlin.

But very similar.

The boy had dark hair and bright eyes, was very skinny, and looked very, very scared and very deer-like with his wide eyes.

“What did he do?”

“When the knights found him, sire, he was attempting to start a fire using sorcery.”

“It’s cold out there,” he commented quietly.

The knight gazed at Arthur, and Arthur felt as if he was being judged. “It was sorcery, your highness, and excuse my crudeness, but he will not be cold when he is burnt at the stake tomorrow.”

“Of course. Leave me alone with the sorcerer, please.”

“Sire, if I may -”

“I wish to interrogate the sorcerer.”

“As you wish.” The knight walked off, and Arthur made sure he had rounded the corner before he turned to the sorcerer. As he looked at the boy, all he could see what Merlin. Merlin, in the cell, Merlin, being led out to the courtyard, Merlin, screaming as he was burnt alive.

“What’s your name?” he asked quietly.

The sorcerer’s eyes grew wider. “Thomas, sire.”

“Thomas, do you have a sweetheart?”  
“Yes. Her name is Helen. I was travelling to see her, and I needed to start a fire. You’re right; it’s cold out there.”

As Thomas spoke, Arthur unlocked the cell with shaking hands. He had never done anything like this before. Thomas’ mouth opened wide, so Arthur held a finger to his lip. Arthur tiptoed into the cell and unlocked the chains that held Thomas’ wrists. The boy rotated his wrists around to stretch them.”

“You overpowered me,” Arthur whispered. “I couldn’t do anything. There’s a secret exit if you go to the left and break through one of the first floorboards. Do something mild to me that will knock me out. Go to Helen.”

“Why, sire?” Thomas asked.

“A ghost of mine would have done the same thing. He would approve of this.”

Thomas nodded, seemingly understanding. “Thank you, sire. You are very kind.” He whispered something, and his eyes flashed gold, like Merlin’s had, and Arthur fell to the floor.

As he lost consciousness, he saw Merlin, running away to be free.

_Twelve years before…_

A sorceress had just invaded the castle.

She had threatened and blustered about, threatening everyone and started fires.

Multiple people had sustained injuries, including Gwen and Gaius. Arthur had gotten a cut, but he had hardly noticed it.

The sorceress had spoken of taking over Camelot and the injustices Uther had committed towards her people.

While she had been talking, Arthur had snuck up behind her and stabbed her in the back with his sword.

She had died instantly.

Gaius treated injuries of the townspeople.

Gwen consoled the frightened people.

His father had made another speech against the evils of magic while the sorceress’ body was splayed out for the community to see.

Arthur glared at the dead woman.

People like you, he thought, are why people fear magic. You are why I can’t have Merlin. Magic is not bad, just some people. You ruin it for the others. Damn you.

_Eleven years before…_

__

“Who are you, boy?” One of the men, who had said he was called Rufus, Merlin was sitting around a campfire with on a dark, starless night asked.

“Nobody,” Merlin replied, turning his head away. A party of six men had been fighting bandits, and Merlin had jumped in and helped out. They had offered to feed him that night, and since he hadn’t eaten anything in a few days, he accepted.

“You gotta be somebody. Nobody just uses magic as strong as you just did without being somebody.” The man stared at Merlin with critical eyes. “So who are you?”

“Like I said, I’m no one.”

“Alright, Mr. Nobody. Why are you out here all alone?” Do you have a home?”

“No.” Merlin took another bite of the stew he had been given. He was so hungry - all he wanted was to eat in peace and be able to enjoy his food.

“That’s quite a scar you have there,” Rufus commented, gesturing at Merlin’s face. “How did you get that?”

“Got into a fight with another sorcerer. He sent a knife flying at my face and it hit me before I could even blink. I turned him into dust afterwards.”

“You’re a real hard, tough type of guy,” Rufus said with an almost admiring tone.

“Not really. I just want to stay alive.”

“You’re just a ray of sunshine,” one of the other men muttered.

That was when Merlin snapped. “I may be nobody now, but I was somebody a few years ago. I was manservant to the prince of Camelot.”

The men all looked at him with surprise on their tired faces. “You? The manservant to Prince Arthur? What happened?”  
“He discovered that I am a sorcerer. Obviously I was not welcome anymore.”

Rufus stared at him incredulously. “How are you still alive?”

“Arthur let me go. Helped me escape.”

The men started laughing among themselves, but when Merlin didn’t join in their merriments, they fell serious. The laughter turned to whispering and sly, daring glances.

“You must have been one hell of a servant for him to do that,” another man said gruffly. “My sister was burned to death a few years back. My mum never really got over it. Damn bastards. Tell me a little more. How did you escape?”

“No thank you,” Merlin said quietly. “I would rather not.” He savored the last drop of his stew, and then stood up. “Thank you,” he said to Rufus, and walked away from the men.

As he left, he heard their incredulous whispers. The whispers were like ghosts dancing in the wind. They will tell people about me, Merlin thought. Nobody will believe that I’m alive. I’m a ghost, now.

_Ten years before…_

__

It had been ten years.

The realization dawned on Merlin early one morning, when the sun breaking through the clouds and the birds were chirping and the flowers were blooming.

It had been ten years since he had last seen Camelot. Since he had been revealed to be a sorcerer. Since he had been home.

Since he had seen Arthur.

Merlin tried to summon a clear picture of Arthur. Arthur had blonde hair. Arthur was tall. Arthur had blue eyes. He could get the basics, but the little details, like the sound of his laugh or what type of wine he preferred, escaped his mind. Every nuance he forgot was a pinprick on his skin, and at the moment, Merlin felt as if he was being pricked by ten thousand pins.

Ten years. Merlin laughed bitterly. He was getting older quickly. He was covered in more scars, his hair was shaggy and he had a beard, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had slept in a bed or bathed. Truthfully, he didn’t know if he could take another ten years like this.

_Nine years before…_

__

Somedays, Arthur found himself wishing that Merlin was dead. It would be better than the what-ifs and the wondering if there was any way Merlin could be alive. He had given up, in a way. It had been eleven years since he had last seen Merlin, and there had been no contact with him.

If Merlin were dead, he could mourn him. He could bury Merlin and move on, but because of the slight possibility of Merlin being alive, he couldn’t. If Merlin were dead, there would be a grave he could visit, something tangible, something he could lay flowers on.

All he had now was the ghost of a man who could still be among the living.

_Eight years before…_

Somedays, Merlin found himself wishing that Arthur hadn’t helped him to escape. It would be better than getting into fights every other day and nearly bleeding to death once a month. If he hadn’t escaped, then he wouldn’t feel such sorrow every time he saw a man with blonde hair or blue eyes.

He and Arthur had pulled off bigger stunts before. Arthur could have talked Uther out of killing Merlin, or Merlin could have pulled some magic. They could have done it, but Merlin had run.

All he was now was a ghost of a man who had once had a life.

_Seven years before…_

Gaius was dead.

It shouldn’t have come as a shock, for the physician was old and had been sickly ever since Merlin had left, but Arthur locked himself in his room for nearly a week after. Gaius had been the best connection he had to Merlin, and now that he was gone, it felt as if Merlin had never even existed. Plus, the old physician had grown to become a grandfatherly figure to Arthur when he decided that he couldn’t trust Uther or his judgement anymore.

The funeral went by in a blur, and before Arthur even knew what was happening, he found himself standing in Gaius’ chambers in the dead of the night.

Arthur took a deep breath and then lit a few of the candles Gaius had had sitting about. They cast an eerie glow over the room, illuminating the covers and breaking through the glass bottles of medicine Gaius had stored. He wandered about the room, absentmindedly stroking the covers of books or picking up vials before setting them down. His heart felt as if it was about to overflow with all the sadness he felt when he saw the stairs that led to Merlin’s room.

As if he were in a trance, he climbed the steps one by one at a snail’s pace. The door creaked on its hinges and let a layer of dust loose when Arthur turned the knob and pushed it open. He stepped into the room, and felt like the air was strangling him. Gaius had obviously left Merlin’s possessions untouched for the last thirteen years. Merlin’s bed was unmade, a half-empty glass of water next on the bedstand, and one of his neckerchiefs was on the mattress. A book of spells was opened on the floor. Dust floated about the room and covered the contents of the room like a blanket during wintertime.

Arthur sank down onto the bed, and before he knew what was happening, was crying. His sobs weren’t dramatic or showy, but his chest hiccupped with every desperate gasp for air. He was trying so hard not to cry, so hard not to sob, for he was the prince, damn it, the crown prince of one of the best kingdoms in the land, and not only the prince, but a knight, and for the love of God why couldn’t he stop crying.

The only explanation he could think of was that the ghosts had finally gotten him.

_Six years before…_

Merlin looked at himself in a mirror. He had finally found a job as a stable hand in a kingdom miles and miles away from Camelot. He had a small chamber in the castle, a source of food, access to water. Finally, everything was somewhat constant.

Then why did he feel so empty?

He stared himself down in the mirror. He was no longer as young as he used to be, although he did look younger due to the absence of his beard. His hair was cut short, making the scar on his face more prominent, and Merlin could see the very defined shape of his cheekbones. He had already been very skinny, and since he had had limited food for a very long time, the weight had permanently stayed off. His eyes were hardened and tired, and for the first time, Merlin noticed the absence of his smile lines.

Had he forgotten how to smile?  
He tried to crack the biggest smile he could. It turned out like a grimace.

That was when he started crying.

Nothing was fair. Nothing in the world was fair.

_Five years before…_

Gwen and Lancelot were getting married. Arthur attended the wedding.

People often asked Arthur why he had never married. He cracked a smile and said that he had never found the right person.

They couldn’t know the truth.

_Four years before…._

__

Merlin often relived the day he left Camelot in his head, asking himself what he could have done differently. Should he have not put up a shield? Not run away? Not killed ten sorcerers?

He always drew a blank, for if he had done one thing differently, Arthur would have been dead.

Merlin knew one thing: if he could go back to that day, he wouldn’t change a thing.

_Three years before…_

__

Red and blue flowers reminded Arthur of Merlin.

Cold winds and shadows also reminded him of Merlin.

Yellow and blue flowers reminded Merlin of Arthur.

Fear and the dark also reminded him of Arthur.

_Two years before…_

“The king is dead! Long live the king!”

His people echoed the shouts, and Arthur opened his ears to their shouts. His father was dead, not by sorcery or assassination as he had constantly feared, but by an ordinary illness. He was not particularly sad. He did not cry. He was king, now, and being a king meant he had to be strong for his kingdom.

Being king also meant that there were to be changes around Camelot. It was his turn to rule. He refused to be just a shadow of Uther. It was time to step into his own light.

His first decree as king was lifting the ban on magic.

_One year before…_

News travelled slowly, but it did get around.

Merlin sat in a tavern, staring at a drink yet not taking any sips. Everyone around him was buzzing, as usual.

“Yeah, I heard old King Uther died.” The sentence, spoken by an anonymous hero, seemed to stop time for Merlin. “Prince Arthur is now King Arthur. He lifted the ban on magic.”

Merlin ran from the tavern, his heart soaring. He knew where he was going. For the first time in years, he felt alive.

He was going home.

The year of…

Merlin walked through the streets of Camelot, a hood over his head, the rest of the cloak pulled around his body tightly. How everything had changed in twenty years. There were new children running about, new stands of fruit and goods, and everyone looked happy. Merlin felt as if butterflies had built a home in his stomach. He was the most excited he had been in twenty years, yet he was also the most nervous.

He strode confidently through the gates of the castle and through the front doors. He had travelled non-stop for a year, facing off against bandits and sorcerers and illness and nature, and now, he was in Camelot. The air felt cleaner, the sun was setting, creating a splattering of pink and orange, and the castle was as majestic as ever.

In twenty years, he had not lost his memory of the secret hallways of the castle. He moved stealthily through the halls, avoiding all knights, as if he had been walking these halls just yesterday. Merlin supposed that when you lived in a place in your mind for twenty years, walking through it came naturally. He inhaled when he reached his destination:

The door to Arthur’s room.

He raised his hand once to knock (there had been a time where he wouldn’t even dream of knocking; he would have just barged in), then lowered it, overcome with fear and apprehension. What would he say? It had been twenty years. Was the Arthur he left even remotely similar to the one he was coming back to? Would Arthur even want to see him? Merlin raised his hand to knock again, but once again lowered it. He was not the same Merlin that had left, either. Would Arthur want him back?

Damn everything. He didn’t stay away for twenty years to be a coward. He rapped on the door gently.

“Go away. I’m working.” Arthur’s voice floated through the door, air to a drowning man. Merlin nearly choked on his own happiness. He knocked again, this time more insistently.

“Fine, fine, I’m coming!” Merlin heard quick footsteps that seemed to be as fast as his heartbeat, and the door flew open. There, in the doorway, was Arthur. Arthur, in a red shirt and brown trousers. Arthur, with blue eyes like the sky. Arthur, whose hair was graying slightly and had some wrinkles on his face.

Arthur.

When Arthur heard a knock on the door, a twinge of annoyance rushed through him. He had to finish the speech he was writing. “Go away, I’m working!” he called out. Another knock came, this one louder and more insistent. “Fine, fine, I’m coming!” He stood up from his desk, hearing his bones crack as he did so. He wasn’t as young as he used to be, and it was late. The sun was setting. Where was Edward with his dinner? Then he remembered that Edward had left nearly three months ago in order to take better care of his family. After that, Arthur had never gotten another servant. He simply didn’t feel the need to have one anymore.

He opened the door, expecting to see a panicked kitchen hand, but instead, a man in a tattered black cloak with the hood up was standing in the frame. Just as Arthur was about to question the man, he pulled back the hood of his cloak, and Arthur was left staring with an open mouth at a ghost. Merlin.

Arthur went cold, then hot, then cold again. The man standing in front of him looked different, but that was to be expected. The last time he had seen Merlin was in the dark woods, when he had been injured and running away from a certain death. Now, Merlin was skinnier, bonier, and scarred. Just from briefly looking at him, Arthur could see at least ten scars, including the nasty one on his face. Merlin’s hair was graying, but still had some black left in it, and he had a beard. However, despite all of the differences, he was still most definitely Merlin. His eyes were exactly the same. He let the sight of the other man wash over him.

“Arthur?” Merlin asked softly. He looked nervous. “Arthur, if you want me to leave…”

Arthur laughed with joy. Without any hesitation, he took a giant step forward and pulled Merlin into his arms. He wrapped his arms around Merlin’s thin frame and held him against his chest tightly, burying his head in his shoulder. Merlin was so thin and bony and it was making Arthur’s chin sore, but he didn’t care because it was Merlin, he was holding Merlin. He had waited for this day for twenty years. Suddenly, he felt something wet against his shirt, and he realized that Merlin was crying. Noticing that made his eyes tear up, and soon enough, both men were crying and laughing and clinging to each other all at the same time. Arthur forced himself to pull back and hold Merlin’s at an arm’s length. “Let’s go in my room,” he said in a shaky voice. He took Merlin’s hand and led him in his room.

Merlin closed the door and looked around with wide eyes, taking in every detail of the room. He walked forward, running his fingers over Arthur’s changing screen, bed frame, mattress, and closet. He looked wonderstruck, and then turned back to Arthur. He stepped forward again, and suddenly, Merlin’s lips were on his, they were kissing, and God, it felt like Heaven. Arthur pulled Merlin even closer to him as they kissed, and after a few seconds, Merlin pulled away.

“I’ve waited twenty years to do that,” Merlin said in a deep, hoarse voice.

“I can’t believe that it’s really you,” Arthur said shakily. He was still shocked, crying, and Merlin looked awestruck, too. Arthur held tight to Merlin’s hands.

“Arthur?” Merlin questioned in a small voice. “I’m really, really tired.”

Arthur led Merlin to the bed and they laid down together. Merlin folded himself into Arthur. For awhile, they laid in silence. Arthur delighted in the feel of Merlin in his arms, solid and real. He had pictured the day for twenty years, and now that is was finally here, he was finally happy.

After the sun had finally set, Merlin began to speak. “After I ran away from you, I just roamed the forest for awhile. I fought bandits and sorcerers, kept them away from Camelot.”

“How did that happen?” Arthur ran his fingers over the long scar of Merlin’s face.

Merlin ducked his head down. “Knife. A sorcerer. I hate it. I’ve hated it for the past eighteen years.”

“Merlin. You look incredible. Incredible. Scars… they don’t matter.”

Merlin nodded and blushed. “You are an incredibly mushy dollophead,” he muttered. “After a few years, some enemies of yours got ahold of me. They tortured me, but I finally got away. I roamed around for about ten more years, then I got a job in a kingdom a little bit over east. As soon as I heard that you were king, I travelled as fast as I could to get here. And now here I am.”

“I lifted the ban on magic. It was all for you. Merlin, I thought about you every day.”

“I’m not the same person I was, you know,” Merlin said quietly. “I’ve been through torture, starving, homelessness. I… I have some issues.”

“I would have you know, Merlin, that I am not the same person, either. We can get through it, though. You can tell me things as you’re ready, and I’ll tell you things, too. I promise that everything will be okay now.”

Merlin settled further into the bed. “Thank you, Arthur,” he murmured sleepily. “For twenty years ago, and now, and the future.”

Arthur kissed Merlin’s lips tenderly, and placed a hand on his forehead. “Sleep.”

Merlin’s eyes closed, and his breathing evened out. Arthur was tired, but he couldn’t seem to fall asleep. He kept staring at Merlin, kissing his forehead, running his finger over the scar on his face. Finally, he was too exhausted to stay awake anymore. He started to drift off to sleep peacefully, for he knew that when he woke up, Merlin would be next to him.

For the first time in twenty years, Arthur fell asleep without the presence of ghosts.

****  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> That turned out longer than I expected. Anyways, hope everyone liked it, and please leave what you think!


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